


Almost Undrinkable

by DancerInTheMoonlight



Series: Blaine Anderson Is The Vampire Slayer [6]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Anxiety, Blaine Anderson Is The Vampire Slayer, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inspired by Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Internalized Homophobia, Some angst, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24096964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancerInTheMoonlight/pseuds/DancerInTheMoonlight
Summary: "Blaine felt the color drain from his face. He only half-listened to Tina’s words, because of course it had to be Valentine’s Day. Of course he’d be going to meet up with his mortal enemy, the potential Big Bad, who was also very male and pretty, at the Lima Bean on Valentine’s Day. Blaine knew it would look like a date. Because the stupid bastard would bend over backwards, no doubt, to make it look like one, just to poke fun at the Slayer. And if this wasn’t the story of Blaine’s life."
Relationships: Blaine Anderson & Sebastian Smythe, Blaine Anderson & Tina Cohen-Chang, Blaine Anderson & Tina Cohen-Chang & Sam Evans, Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe, Mike Chang/Tina Cohen-Chang
Series: Blaine Anderson Is The Vampire Slayer [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1256447
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Almost Undrinkable

They had their first date on Valentine’s Day.

Or at least that is what Sebastian liked to call it, anyway.

Blaine was always quick to correct that it had been a meeting which simply happened to _coincide_ with Valentine’s Day.

The whole date-concept had been introduced as another in the long line of Sebastian Smythe’s flirty innuendos which served the sole purpose of annoying Blaine, but as soon as he realized this phrasing got Blaine all hot and bothered (so to speak, pun intended), Sebastian Smythe made an obligation out of mentioning the said ‘date’ at any given opportunity.

In Blaine’s defense, he had been so wrapped up in Slayer stuff, not to mention anxious about having to potentially stake Sebastian Smythe on sight if he failed to show up for their arranged meeting, that he hardly paid attention to what day it was, let alone what date. Today was the yesterday’s tomorrow they’d arranged to meet so Sebastian Smythe could explain his existence to the Slayer. And for some mystifying reason, the thought of staking Sebastian made Blaine truly uncomfortable. Smythe was offensively pretty and his entire attitude, embellished with a myriad of inappropriate comments, threw Blaine into a state of turbulence, which oscillated between fits of rage and competitive amusement. Therefore, any kind of sparring with Sebastian Smythe felt right. Trading blows felt right. Staking him did not.

It felt to Blaine like he was finally free to dance, well, not exactly with a partner but in company of another. And he did not want it to end.

The previous night, it nearly had. Blaine was still confused by their interaction and still felt cowed for basically trusting Sebastian Smythe. It had been such an unthinkably easy thing to do, trust him, and only now did Blaine have a mind to wonder why.

What weird mojo had Sebastian Smythe been working on him and why hadn’t Blaine realized it sooner?

After giving up all attempts to will his body into sleep, Blaine decided to try and dig something up on ‘cambions’, whatever they were. The Internet wasn’t much help. The Internet wasn’t much help on anything to do with vampires in general and, as a relatively young Slayer, Blaine wondered what fat lot of good was access to an endless stream of information in practice if most of it was trivial hogwash. Anyone could just put anything out there.

Not on cambions, though. Mindful of his browsing history, Blaine had searched different kinds of sexual predators and demonic entities, and still almost nothing came up on cambions. The closest thing Blaine got to a meaningful result was a re-posted, captioned picture of a man, painted realistically and with perfect proportions, his naked body a combination of yielding and firm, an expression of masculine femininity or feminine masculinity. His androgynous face wore a half-smile, like saying you could join him, if you’d like. It was the friendliest predatory face Blaine had ever laid eyes on. Beneath the picture was a short description:

_L’Enfant des Demons : les démons incubes peuvent s'unir aux démones succubes, et qu'il nait de leur commerce des enfants hideux qu'on nomme_ cambions _._ _Dans d'autres cas, un démon insère une partie de son âme dans le ventre d'une jeune femme vierge. L'espérance de vie du cambion est légèrement supérieure à celle d'un humain._

And of course it was in French. Blaine had no idea what to make of it. According to Google translate, this had nothing to do with Sebastian’s mojo.

“You’re up early on a Saturday,” Blaine’s mom appeared in the doorway and Blaine was quick to shut his tabs. He was done investigating, anyway.

“Yeah.” His Slayer organism could carry on with multiple sleepless nights, let alone just the one, but Blaine didn’t feel like sharing the fact he never even went to sleep last night with his mother, so he just shrugged into the kiss she plastered to tis head on her way to the kitchen counter.

“That Coach Sylvester’s not making you train extra on weekends now, is she?”

Blaine didn’t know that he’d mind if she did.

“No, I just felt like waking up.”

“Well, then you can help me out with some gallery stuff later. They delivered it yesterday evening. . . Which reminds me. Did you have a good time last night?” Blaine gave surprised look, struggling to comprehend _how in the world_ did she— “With Tina?”

Oh, right. He had lied about patrol again last night. It was becoming hard to keep track of that. Tina offered a sleepover but Blaine felt it safer to say they were just going out to hang. And then while Tina and Sam hung, Blaine could patrol.

“Yeah, uh—it was great,” he said. “We ran into—” Blaine figured he had been distracted by unexpected questions, because he did not know what in the universe possessed him to steer the conversation in that direction “—some friends,” he finished, lamely.

“That’s nice. I hardly met any of your new friends,” his mom chattered as she made coffee. “Was it that nice boy from the supermarket? Sebastian?” Blaine wondered if this conversation was actually real or if he was beginning to hallucinate after a night thoroughly fixated on Sebastian Smythe. “Is he still around? You know, you should invite him over sometime. He seems like a nice person.”

Yep. Hallucinating. Blaine made an effort to produce some non-committal and, more importantly, non-verbal response.

“I’m glad you’ve made friends, sweetie. Coffee?”

*

He rang Tina later in the afternoon. She picked up as if she’d been waiting by her phone.

“Tay.”

“ _Hey. Did your mom give you trouble about last night?_ ” Blaine thought it was funny.

“No, don’t worry. I have a question, though,” he said. “Do you happen to know anything about something called cambions? They’re like, uh. . . Children of demons?” Blaine had never thought about it, but didn’t all demonic entities count as their maker’s ‘children’?

Aside from the expected academic proficiency (she joked it was the only thing about her which constantly screamed ‘Asian!’), Tina was actually a lover of everything occult and fantastical. Blaine thought he had more chance of learning new information with Tina than with Google when it came to this stuff. He really hoped this was one of those times.

“ _I have heard of them. . . But, no. Not really. Sorry._ ” Blaine’s heart sank. “ _Oh! There’s a book on it, I think—hold on—_ ” There was the sound of furious clicking and Blaine thought the keys on Tina’s computer must be really quite sturdy to withstand this level of daily abuse. She exclaimed, victorious. “ _Found it! It’s in the school library, though, and that’s not open until Monday._ ” Blaine sighed. “ _Why do you need it? Is this an emergency?_ ”

“It’s fine, Tay. Just curious. It can wait till Monday.”

“ _You can come over later and we can go through books I have at home, if you want?_ ”

“Thanks, but I can’t. I—uh,” Blaine cut himself off, realizing he didn’t want to tell her why he couldn’t come over. “I have somewhere to be.”

“ _What, like patrol? Isn’t it a bit early in the day?_ ”

“No, something else. I have a—a—meetng.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to _tell_ her, he just didn’t want her jumping to conclusions.

“ _Oh my god. You have a date?!_ ”

Like that one.

Blaine found himself reflexively rolling his eyes at the word _date_ , even though she couldn’t see him.

“It’s _not_ a date, ok?” He felt like he’d be saying this sentence at least once a day in the future. “It’s just a—wait, hold on. Why would you even think that I must have a date all of a sudden?” He did frequently hang out with Sam and Tina, but Blaine wasn’t the most outgoing person. All things considered—and by all things he meant the Slaying and the general taste of high-school peer homophobia he got – obtaining dates was not exactly at the top of his priorities list at the moment. Maybe Tina didn’t get it, maybe she thought he just shouldn’t care.

“ _Duh. Because of today’s date,_ ” she replied.

“What _about_ the date? I just told you it’s not a date.”

“ _No, idiot. The. Date. February 14 th?_” she said. “ _So I thought, it’s a Saturday and if you have somewhere to be. . .You have a date, don’t you?_ ” She let out a high-pitched squeal so Blaine had to remove the phone a bit. Obviously she wasn’t offended that Blaine clearly hadn’t been planning to tell her, and carried on asking _what was he going to wear and if it included that leather jacket which made him look like a_ —

Blaine felt the color drain from his face. He only half-listened to Tina’s words, because of course it had to be Valentine’s Day. Of course he’d be going to meet up with his mortal enemy, the potential Big Bad, who was also very male and pretty, at the Lima Bean on Valentine’s Day. Blaine knew it would look like a date. Because the stupid bastard would bend over backwards, no doubt, to make it look like one, just to poke fun at the Slayer. And if this wasn’t the story of Blaine’s life.

He considered (only considered) Tina’s wardrobe advice but refused to tell her where he’d be going. He just hoped there weren’t any decorations.

*

There were decorations.

In fact, the place was so smothered in little crimson hearts that Blaine had half a mind to turn around and never come back, his knowledge on cambions be damned. He figured he would just have to avoid Sebastian Smythe for the rest of his life.

Unfortunately, he was not the Slayer for nothing, and so, Blaine squared his shoulders and cruised through the sea of patron-occupied tables, all the way down to where Sebastian Smythe was occupying a table in the corner, waiting for him, because the smarmy bastard had already been there. He even had the gall to rise as Blaine approached their table.

“Killer.”

“I’d never peg your kind as punctual,” Blaine said in lieu of a greeting. Sebastian Smythe lifted an eyebrow.

“Mysterious creatures from the shadow-world?”

“Arrogant, self-obsessed pricks.”

“Ouch,” the said prick grinned. “And as you always were a bit lacking on that front, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Yeah, you would,” Blaine muttered as they both sat down.

After a moment of awkward silence and some unnatural staring on Sebastian Smythe’s part, Blaine decided the direct approach would be the most efficient. And then he could get back home and never think of this meeting ever again.

The sooner Blaine was out of the café, the less talk there would be. Sebastian Smythe looked like he was challenging him to break the silence.

“So,” Blaine began, but was interrupted by the waitress.

“Hi! Welcome to Lima Bean, what can I get you? If you are too love-struck to decide, here’s our special Valentine’s Day _amour du jour_ card, and as for our Valentine’s Day special, I would recommend—” It sounded so animated in such a rehearsed way, like she’d been repeating the same thing to new patrons for hours straight. Blaine saw Sebastian Smythe wince at the way she confidently butchered _amour du jour_ and thought she was going to recite the entire drinks card off the top of her head, in detail and with side-notes on preparation methods. As if their table needed any more attention. Some of his discomfort must have been apparent because his table-companion interrupted the girl with a light touch on her forearm.

“It’s fine. Hi,” Sebastian Smythe flashed her a most wonderful smile. “I’ll have a triple espresso with a shot of your strongest liquor in it,” he smoothly said in a sure, seductive voice which left no room for argument. “And for my friend, if you could get him any one of your best non-alcoholic drinks that’s pink.” Blaine was too distracted to protest. The waitress swooned a little.

“Oh—kay. Anything else?”

“No,” Sebastian Smythe removed his hand. She blinked as if she’d only just come to her senses. “But thanks,” he winked at her as she went away, a smile blooming on her face. Blaine was revolted.

“I did _not want_ a pink drink.”

“You liked the last one I bought you,” Sebastian Smythe shrugged. Blaine had liked it, but that was lightyears beside the point. “Hey,” said Sebastian somberly, as Blaine opened his mouth to protest some more. “You’re a pink drink guy. Own it.”

“Whatever,” Blaine huffed. “Let’s just get this over with so I can go home and you can go. . . wherever it is that you go, provided I don’t have to stake you by the end of it. Which depends entirely on your delivery.”

“Inviting as that sounds, I do believe our concepts of staking differ immensely.” Blaine choked on a bit of air and tried to pretend it didn’t happen.

“You’re disgusting.” He smiled as if Blaine had just called him lovely.

“And you’re blushing.” Blaine glared.

The waitress returned with their drinks then, serving them enthusiastically and leaving only after a string of vapid _thank-yous_ and absurd compliments on her waitressing skills (which were, in Blaine’s personal opinion, less than impressive) coming from Sebastian, who was also smiling at her like there was an expiration date on showing his teeth. She glanced back at him over her shoulder as she walked away. Blaine was deeply annoyed.

“Did you have to flirt with her?” he grit out. “Do you even _like_ her?”

“Did that bother you?” Sebastian frowned back.

“Seeing as it drew attention to—to—this,” he waved his hand in an all-encompassing gesture, “I’d say it did. It was unnecessary.”

“Trust me, it’s a good kind of attention.”

“Nothing about this kind of attention is good.” Blaine didn’t feel this much on edge since that dance at his old school.

“Oh, I see,” Sebastian Smythe leaned back in his seat. “Would you have preferred if I came here as a girl?” he asked, deadly serious. It snapped Blaine out of his oncoming panic attack.

“As a –what? You’re not telling me you can actually change that _at will_?” Blaine asked, incredulous.

“No,” Sebastian’s thoughtful mask cracked and he snickered. “Your face, though.”

Blaine glared, but felt the proverbial ice break. It was a nice and clean break. And to be fair, Sebastian Smythe would make a pretty girl. He already did have firm and elegant feminine lines written into his lithe body.

“Well, what _can_ you do, then? I still don’t understand what kind of Bad are you.”

“The best kind,” Smythe grinned, but promptly continued. “I told you, I’m a cambion. I can influence people upon close contact. Like touching.”

“So, you bend their will?”

“Oh, there’s bending, all right,” he smirked. “But it’s more like I manipulate perception according to desire.” He sipped his drink. “That’s delicious. You should try yours.”

Blaine pointedly ignored his own drink, some kind of strawberry frappe, viciously pink in color, trapped between a sticky dark mess of tar-like chocolate at the bottom and a swirly towering menace of heavy white cream on top. Blaine was sure that Sebastian Smythe would deem it fitting of Blaine’s personality.

“I don’t understand. Isn’t that like a thrall?”

“It’s more of a persuasion. I’m not just your regular bloodsucker.” He frowned. “On second thought, I don’t need the juice as much as a regular one, either.” Blaine remembered the conversation that transpired between them the night they met.

“So, basically, you could persuade me into anything you wanted? How is that different?” he felt uneasy at the idea. Blaine liked his free will, thank you very much. Not to mention this made Sebastian Smythe a very dangerous individual.

“Not exactly. I could persuade you into anything _you_ wanted. Here, it’s easier if I just show you,” he said and extended a pale hand across the table, palm up, asking for Blaine’s hand. When Blaine didn’t accept, he gave him an expectant look. _Well?_

Blaine didn’t move.

“I think I got a pretty good impression last time,” he said, glancing at the hand as if it might bite.

Sebastian Smythe looked like he expected that answer. “Ah. But now, unlike last night, you know what to expect. Therefore, you can focus on exactly what I’m doing and what you’re feeling as I’m doing it.” It sounded like the most obvious thing in the world. “Look, I don’t go about explaining this to people and holding mass tutorials on how to better recognize it, either. Just an FYI.”

“Right. And me threatening you has nothing to do with it.”

“For the most part, no. You’re special,” he shrugged. “Come on then, Killer. Take my hand.”

“I—” Blaine felt several shades uncomfortable about this, and his biggest apprehension wasn’t even that Sebastian Smythe might manipulate him into some twisted evil scheme – it was the hand-holding. “I don’t want to hold your hand,” Blaine admitted. In a different setting, under different circumstances, or maybe in an altogether different universe, Blaine thought he might want to hold his hand. He might not even want to ever let it go.

But not here.

“Some date this is,” Sebastian huffed. Blaine gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists on reflex.

“This is _not_ a date.”

“Look. I can’t show you if I can’t touch you. Believe it or not, any other kind of prolonged physical contact in a public setting would be significantly less appropriate. Unless you want me to hug you? We’d have to keep it above the waist, though. And my hands do have the unfortunate tendency to wander—”

“No, I don’t want your hand anywhere! And I am not holding it. Especially not here.”

“Fine,” Sebastian Smythe sighed. “Put your hand around your drink and move it a bit closer to mine.” Blaine was suspicious about where this was going but he complied. “Ok, now let it casually stay there.” Blaine held the pose. “I said casual, not stiff as a week-old corpse in the freezer.” He pretended to play with the plastic menu for a couple of seconds and then positioned it so that it hid Blaine’s glass from general view. Seeming satisfied with this maneuver, he took a sip of his drink and incidentally moved his hand next to Blaine’s glass.

“I am now going to touch a point on your hand with the tip of my finger and it will remain inconspicuous to the rest of the world. Unless there’s someone here with x-ray vision. In that case, alas, ‘tis been all for naught!”

Blaine rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Not as ridiculous as you, it seems. Ready?” Blaine felt ridiculous, in fact. He was the Slayer and yet, _this_ was what made him nervous. Blaine closed his eyes.

“Do it.”

He pressed gently on the point where Blaine’s thumb met the rest of his hand. At first there was nothing.

Blaine wondered if he was so nervous it prevented him from feeling anything. And then suddenly, he felt.

Their point of contact was tingling and it felt as it something warm was spreading from it, flowing through Blaine’s entire body. Its course felt unpredictable, like there was potential for that steady flow to turn into something much wilder, but at the same time, Blaine felt it was something that belonged entirely to him. It felt like a house in which all the doors and windows were held open at the same time. It felt acting upon whatever you want. _What did he want?_ _He wanted to get up and leave. He wanted to taste the pink drink. He wanted to tell the annoying waitress where to shove it. He wanted to let go of the glass, and touch the hand that was touching his. He wanted to hold hands with whoever he wanted whenever he felt like it. He felt like holding this hand. He felt like dropping this hand. He felt like running. He felt like wanting some peace. He felt like—_ There was a wave of calm washing over Blaine, as if it was being pulled from some unknown source deep within. He didn’t feel anything anymore. There was no desire. Just serenity. Time stretched.

He felt the invisible tides ebb away. When he opened his eyes, Sebastian Smythe was watching him thoughtfully. Something felt nice. It took a moment for Blaine to register the soft fingertips that were making slow, minuscule movements across the back of his hand. He all but jerked away.

Sebastian Smythe’s hand retreated apologetically into his lap. Blaine cleared his throat.

“That was—uh, that was informative.”

“You pushed back pretty successfully,” the other said with a calculating look.

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I don’t exactly trust you,” Blaine scoffed, crossing his arms. He focused his attention on the ridiculous drink in front of him. “You and your weird mojo.”

“Well now you know how to recognize it if I attempt to exercise my weird mojo on your sanctified Slayer person,” replied Sebastian Smythe, in an only slightly humorous, and otherwise oddly subdued, manner. “I couldn’t do you much harm, anyway. It’s quite clear that you’re aware of your own desires. You just don’t act on them.”

It didn’t sound judgmental, just detached. A surprisingly spot-on observation. The wave of calm he’d felt earlier cleared Blaine’s head a bit. He was strong. He was the Slayer. Maybe it was time he acted on some of them.

The least dramatic ones, for a start. He uncrossed his arms.

“You can leave, you know. I’m not going to run after you and make a scene or anything.”

“No?” Blaine asked, finally taking a sip of his pink drink. “You could send flowers, though. In apology for this god-awful drink.” His table-companion perked up.

“Please. You’re enjoying it,” prompted by the turn in the atmosphere, he leaned in and Blaine found himself leaning in as well.

“It’s impossibly sweet. Almost undrinkable.” Sebastian Smythe looked at him knowingly.

“Almost,” he said.

Blaine thought the evening might almost pass without any strange twist of events or staked corpses. Without further embarrassments, even. They could just leave and Blaine could go on patrol with Sebastian Smythe casually tagging along, maybe even spar on an empty spot in some graveyard. Like the drink, the evening might even turn out enjoyable.

Then the front door of the Lima Bean chimed and, heading straight for an unoccupied table near them, in waltzed Tina followed by Mike Chang, openly staring at Sebastian in faux-surprise and saying: “Blaine! Who’s your friend?”

Or not.


End file.
